


open up my eyes

by sonhoedesrazao



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Episode: s07e23 Extreme Measures, M/M, implied garashir, mostly a rambling account of julian/miles during s7, season 7, seems angsty but i just want everyone to be happy so dont worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 17:42:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14170146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonhoedesrazao/pseuds/sonhoedesrazao
Summary: In daylight, it is remarkably easy to fall back on their regular patterns and let that night fade like a dream. They don't bring it up. They go back to the war and their holosuite programs and the Alamo model, and all that's left of those moments is the sudden urge Miles feels sometimes—when Julian’s eyes turn dark and inward—to hold him close.





	open up my eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a slut for Garashir as much as the next person, but Julian Bashir and Miles O'Brien are space husbands who have ruined my life and here's the result of that. Loosely follows season 7, but Julian and Ezri decide to remain friends (if only!).

_There's nothing I could do for Jadzia_. The words ring in Miles' head, the reality of war knocking him down once again. Not that he could forget—they lose people all the time, he’s lost count of the station’s dead—but sometimes it's harder. This time, it’s intensely personal. Not only because it’s Jadzia, his friend—Jadzia dead, how is it  _possible_ —but also because it's Jadzia, Julian's friend, and Julian just had to declare her dead.

He goes home and tells Keiko and they sit in helpless silence for a while, hands clasped, the ghost of war casualties between them. The underlying truth is that one day it might be him that doesn't come home. He should do what he usually does and stay with his wife and kids, enjoy every moment with them because it could, so very easily, be the last. Or he could find some of their other friends and grieve for Jadzia. But with a jolt of guilt he realizes it's not Jadzia or Keiko he's thinking about.  _There's nothing I could do_. Is someone holding Julian’s hand right now?

He turns to his wife and begins to stutter something and Keiko—because she's wonderful and knows him more than he's sometimes comfortable with—just nods and says, "Go."

 

 

"Enter."

Julian turns to him. He's standing in front of the window, staring out into space. He’s ditched the uniform jacket, rolled up his sleeves. When Miles comes in, he turns and gives a couple of slow steps, his face carefully blank.

It's a horrible look on him. Miles remembers how his talkative streak used to annoy him, and being truly  _annoyed_  by Julian’s cheerfulness is a concept so foreign now that seems to belong to someone else. He misses that Julian, the readiness of his smile, the unwavering optimism. The eyes that weren’t red-rimmed with sorrow and sleep deprivation. Since the war started, they’ve been replaced by these hollow pits. They stare back at him now.

Neither of them says anything for a moment. The room is dimly lit and Miles walks in slowly. He knows this space intimately. He's here all the time, and for some periods he was here a lot more than in his own quarters. He stops a few feet away.

Julian’s hand open and close at his sides. “What are you doing here?”

“I told Keiko what happened,” he says, which is not an answer.

"Is she alright?”

He feels a stab of—something he doesn’t care to name, painful and intense. The words come out honest and blunt. “I'm more worried about you.”

And Julian crumbles. His neutral expression falls, his chest heaves as a sob leaves him. Miles is moving before he realizes, pure instinct leading him forward. He circles Julian’s waist, props him up so Julian won't collapse. “I'm sorry,” he says, just to say something, because he knows there's nothing to be sorry for personally and nothing he can say to make this better. This is the worst part of any battle, when the shots are over and there’s nothing but the silence and the absence of friends. “I'm here,” he says instead, because it's true and the only thing he can offer. “I'm here.”

Julian shudders and Miles presses him close, holding him through it. They've never done this, he realizes. Not the crying, the  _hugging_ —all this time and he's never hugged Julian. That seems strange; it feels so easy.

“I couldn't save her,” Julian says after a while, hands still grasping Miles' uniform into tight fists.

“No one could have,” he says quietly. “You did all you could. You know that. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Julian lets himself be led by a hand on the elbow. He sits on the bed and looks up at Miles, as if waiting for instructions. Miles swallows. Hesitates. What would Keiko tell him to do?

“Scoot over,” he says, and Julian doesn’t bother lifting the sheets, just takes off his shoes and slides, exhausted, to the right side of the bed. Miles carefully sits on the left and takes his own shoes off, then settles over the covers.

“Lights,” comes Julian’s feeble command. And then they’re in the dark, only the pinprick of stars shining from the other room. He could be in his own quarters. Except he’s intensely aware of Julian’s presence next to him; his breathing, different than Keiko’s, his eyes still open and restless. Julian’s awake. Will probably remain awake for a while. Miles thinks he might suffer from insomnia too, but it’s been a hellish day and before he notices, he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, he needs a second to orient himself—this isn't his room and the body next to him isn't his wife. He blinks and sees someone’s back, the contours assuming a familiar and masculine shape, and realizes what woke him when that body shudders, stifling a sound.

He doesn't think about it—just reaches out and touches Julian's arm to let him know he's awake. “Julian.” No reply. He scoots forward the short distance between them until his chest is against Julian's back, then moves his hand to Julian's chest.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Julian says quietly.

Miles shushes him, finds his hand and clasps it in his own. He’s been through his share of grief; he knows the motions, how hard it is to turn your mind off. “It's okay,” he says in Julian's ear, and in his sleep-deprived state of mind, doesn't have time to stop himself before he kisses the underside of Julian's jaw, the stretch of skin on his shoulder where his shirt doesn't touch. A sigh from Julian, that Miles feels when his body relaxes against him. “It's okay. Try to rest.”

Eventually, they both do.

 

 

He doesn't tell Keiko. About any of it. God help him, he doesn't tell her.

He could. She would forgive him any liberties taken, and he could present it as comforting a friend in need. But that would almost seem more dishonest than silence. Like placing the responsibility on Julian's grief instead of his own will—and it was, Miles knows, his own will.

In daylight, however, it is remarkably easy to fall back on their regular patterns and let that night fade like a dream. They don't bring it up. They go back to the war and their holosuite programs and the Alamo model, and all that's left of those moments is the sudden urge Miles feels sometimes—when Julian’s eyes turn dark and inward—to hold him close.

 

 

The Alamo model is somewhat magnificent. Even Quark thinks so, if he allows them to keep it at his bar. It's either that or the fact he and Julian consume enormous amounts of alcohol in their strategic sessions.

“We can’t  _do_  that,” Miles exclaims.

“But it would give us a tactical advantage!” Julian argues.

“Exactly—I’ve told you, we don’t want an advantage.”

“Right, I forgot. We’re just desperate to lose this battle.” Julian rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, leaning against the model.

“That’s what it makes it glorious, Jules,” he says and reaches out to lift a fallen soldier on the field. He doesn’t realize he said anything unusual until Julian tenses up next to him, turning his face aside. Miles raises his eyes in surprise. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“What is it? Out with it.”

“It’s just—that’s how I used to be called.”

 _Jules._ It just rolled off the tongue. “Used to?”

Quark's is busy around them, a humdrum of voices. Julian nods and takes a deep breath, facing the model soldiers. “Before I knew of the procedure,” he explains. “ _After_ , I told my parents I didn't want to be called that anymore. Because  _Jules_  was dead.”

It's not a prohibition, Miles notices. He presses his advantage. “Well, that's bloody stupid, because you're not a different person. Yeah, I know, you're smarter and faster and what-not, but I told you, that's not what makes someone who they are.” Silence. Julian still stares at the model as if he's studying it attentively. “Do you like it?” Miles asks after a beat. It could mean: do you like the nickname? It actually means: do you like it when I call you that?  _Can_  I call you that? Can I be the only one who does?

Knowing the answer is suddenly extremely important. He holds his breath.

The reply is quiet. “Yes.”

He's afraid of moving, of either shattering the moment or pushing it toward something else. When Ezri and Kira greet them and break the tension, he tells himself it's for the best.

 

 

They get drunk more often after Jadzia's death. Or maybe after the war. There are plenty of reasons for getting drunk these days, and Miles has an extra personal one he keeps close to his chest.

Julian's reasons, this time, probably have something to do with Section 31 and whatever it is that happened to him in that Romulan conference. He doesn't talk about it—it's all very confidential—but Miles senses something bad was done to him and wishes there was someone he could punch in response.

They ask Quark for some of the  _good stuff_ , but Miles has an early shift, so Julian does most of the drinking. Sure enough, the end of the night sees them stumbling towards Julian’s quarters, Miles holding up most of Julian's weight.

“I’m never going on another conference,” Julian slurs.

“That’s probably wise,” Miles laughs. “There you go, watch your step—don’t, oh, leave it, it’s just a PADD, I’ll pick it up later. Come on.” He leads Julian to the bedroom and plops him down on the bed.

Julian’s back falls and Miles has to take his shoes off and nudge him up the bed so he doesn’t sleep with his legs over the side of it. He replicates a glass of water and leaves it on the bedside table. Julian is a mess of sprawled limbs. Miles thinks he’s dead asleep but blurry eyes blink up at him before he can turn off the lights.

“I really thought I’d die this time,” Julian says quietly.

His heart flips over in his chest. “Well, you didn’t,” he says, going for casual, as if the very idea doesn’t leave him cold. If he ever meets anyone from Section 31, he’s not sure what he might do. “You’re alright. You’re home now.”

Julian huffs at this, for some reason, and lifts a hand that may or may not be beckoning him. Miles sits gingerly on the edge of the bed.

“I was thinking...” Julian doesn’t finish his thought. His eyes close, eyelids fluttering.

“What?” Miles asks after a moment, and Julian shudders awake again. “You were thinking what?”

Julian raises an unsteady hand. Hesitant fingers brush feather-light against his cheek and jaw and something flutters in his chest. His throat is a choked-up knot.

“About how you and Jadzia are so important to me,” Julian says. “And neither is mine.”

His hand falls to the side. His eyes shut again, and don't open anymore.

 

 

It’s a few days later that Keiko corners him at night, after they put the kids to bed. Well, not corners. She simply sits on the bed and looks at him from across the room.

“What?” he asks.

“You’ve been very quiet these days,” she says.

“Oh. It's nothing. Work, you know." He attempts a comforting smile, but the straight line of Keiko's mouth shows she doesn't believe in him. The truth is: there's this pressure in his chest building since that night, an ache every time he thinks back on Julian's words and what he wished to say to him, and it must be clear for her to read on his face. She's always read him so easily.

“Miles,” she says, ever so patient, “don't you think it's time we talked about this?”

“This?”

She pats the edge of the bed. He sits slowly. Suddenly it’s hard to breathe. Anxiety is pumping through his veins. The truth hovers in the space between them. Unacknowledged. Unsaid.  

Keiko says it for him. “The way you feel about Julian.”

He takes a shuddering breath. A while ago, he might have acted confused. He doesn’t do that now. There's urgency and desperation—and honesty—in his words. “I don't know how I feel about Julian.”

“I do,” she says, and the ghost of a smile touches her lips. A little amused, a little sad. “I watched you fall in love with me, Miles. I can recognize what it looks like.”

He takes a deep breath. Those steady engineer hands of his are shaking in his lap. He stares at them. “I didn't want this.”

Keiko laughs quietly. “No one  _wants_  these things, Miles, they just happen.”

There's a moment of silence in which she runs her hand through his hair and he tries to find his voice. He knows that if he opens his mouth he'll fall apart. He swallows it down, closes his eyes, feels the shape of the words in his mind and his heart.

“I'm in love with him,” he says quietly in the shared intimacy of their room, the words an admission and a revelation all at once, Keiko's solid presence next to him the permission he's been waiting for. He tastes the truth in his lips. “I'm in love with Julian.”

“Yes,” she says simply. “What are you going to do about it?”

He turns his head sharply, a tentative hope blossoming in him. "You want me to  _do_  something about it?”

Her smile disappears, but she looks determined—as Keiko always is once she makes up her mind.

“I love you, Miles.”

“I love you,” he says back, the words so easy and true.

“I don't want to force you to push aside your feelings. Do I  _want_  to share you? Not really, but the truth is I already do, whether Julian remains your friend or... something else. I want you to be happy," she adds. "Maybe this is a good thing. We're in the middle of a war and you're on the front lines. I can't be with you as much as I’d like to.” She takes takes his hand. “And, anyway, I trust Julian to take care of you."

 

 

Then—because this is how these things go—Julian falls in love with Ezri. Miles has been half expecting this since Ezri stepped onto the station, so he should be ready for it, but their tentative courtship still knocks the air out of him. It shouldn’t. Julian’s prone to these bursts of feeling. He’s easy to love and loves easily. There was that whole deal with Sarina, and before that, Garak—and  _that one_ is maybe still in the game, in some form. He never could grasp that relationship and knows he never will. It irks him.

He has no right to be jealous of any of them, but tell that to that part of him that stares at the ceiling at night wondering which one will finally drive them apart. _This is silly_ , Keiko says,  _what you have is your own thing. No one can change it_. But he knows anything can change—their own marriage is proof. Julian changed it, didn’t he? Julian changed him.

He has no right to come between Julian and anyone, though, even if a part of him wishes to be selfish and do so anyway. So he tries to keep his mind on the job, because while he’s all torn up by feelings for his best friend, the war is still raging around them—and goddamn Section 31 infected Odo with a deadly illness, which Julian intends to cure.

He goes into doctor mode, the no-sleep-until-the-job-is-done, I-will-blame-myself-for-failure mode. And Miles has to help him, doesn’t he? If only to keep him safe.

So when Julian comes up with an absurd plan to get inside the  _Sloan’s_   _mind_ , it’s never even a question that Miles will come along. When they find themselves trapped and on death’s door, all he can think is that Keiko will know exactly why he did this, and it wasn’t for Odo.

Julian knows too, and bloody comes out and says it.

“She’ll understand—she’ll know you did it for me.”

“That’s what will upset her the most,” Miles grumbles. “She always said I—I liked you more than I liked her.” Even  _before._ When it was just a joke between the two of them that he spent more time with Julian than with her. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Julian laughs. A beat, then—“Maybe you like me a bit more, that’s all.”

Miles tenses up. “I do not.”

“You spend more time with me.”

“We work together!”

“We have more in common.”

“I love my wife,” he says again, and if his tone is a bit desperate, their harrowing circumstances more than justify it.

“And I loved Ezri," says Julian. "Passionately.”

He turns abruptly. “ _Loved_?”

“We’ve... talked and decided it’s best to remain friends. We felt maybe we were rushing into things just because she’s Dax and… well, I’ve been known to be impulsive.”

He laughs weakly. “Right.”

“It’s just that I—like you a bit more,” Julian resumes his reasoning. “See, there, I’ve admitted it.”

They’re probably going to die in the next twenty minutes, but that does nothing to stop the warmth unfurling in his chest. Julian stares fixedly ahead, and Miles feels on the verge of something. “You do?” 

Before Julian can answer, there’s this blinding light—and they’re off again to save their lives.

 

 

Later, when the plan somehow works out and Odo is saved, he remembers their conversation. It hovers between them at Quark’s as they have a drink and go through what happened and the fact Julian could’ve lost himself if it wasn’t for him. They toast to friendship, then he has to leave.

“Keiko’s holding dinner for me.”

“This late?”

“Ah, well, she’s a hell of a woman.” More than Julian even knows.

“That’s why you love her,” Julian says.

“That’s why I love her.” He turns. A few steps and he's doubling back. “You want to come?”

Maybe this is a bad idea, but it doesn’t feel like it when Julian’s face brightens.

Keiko sees the two of them and doesn’t falter, greeting Julian as if she’s expected him all along. All through dinner, they tell her the details of what happened, she properly chastises them, and it’s all so familiar and comfortable that it hurts. If he could have this—the two of them—he thinks he’d never ask for anything else.

 _Is that all, Miles O’Brien?_ One man shouldn’t be so lucky.

 

 

And then there’s the fact that he’s leaving.

He and Keiko talk about the proposal for days, and he knows, deep down, they’re only having this discussion because of Julian. He loves DS9, but the offer will be such an improvement for his family that nothing else here could hold him back. In the end, they make a decision.

He has to tell Julian, and doesn’t. Keiko doesn’t press him, but as the day nears he can see in her eyes that she’s close to bringing it up. He knows he needs to do it already, but every time he tries, he imagines Julian's face and knows the look in his eyes will be mirrored in his own.

The worst part is that Julian will understand.

He's doing this for the kids, most of all. He’s a father and his children are his priority, and if that means he has to let go of what he  _wishes_  he was doing or what he craves for himself, so be it. Isn't Starfleet the same, really? They obey orders, put their lives on the line. The fact that not being around Julian every day seems unbearable wouldn’t stop him from obeying his orders, and won’t stop him from doing what’s best for his family. They all do what they have to do, because they're men and women of principle. So, yes, Julian will understand. And Julian will still be hurt. 

 

 

Of course he blurts it out in the middle of a battle, when his shoulder is burned and Julian’s hovering over him. “I'm leaving DS9, Julian. I'm moving back to Earth.”

 _Why_ , Julian asks, then  _When._ Like he’s out of breath and can't manage full sentences. Miles explains and Julian tries to laugh, but his voice is quiet and distant when he says  _Of course_ , resigned and miserable, and this is what Miles has been dreading, more than the explosions in the bridge or any Dominium attack.

For a moment there is nothing but Julian’s silence, like a knife in his chest, then the battle resumes.

 

 

They win the war. They survive. All things considered, he should be thankful. This is the best case scenario.

 

 

On his last night on the station, he puts the kids to sleep. When he closes the door to their room, Keiko’s waiting for him on the sofa. She gives him a searching look, as if waiting for him to say something.

Miles swallows. He spent the day on edge, a sense of dread weighing his every step. It will dissipate, with time. Probably. But right now he can’t stop himself from counting the hours, from wishing—from wishing. He might burst with it if he doesn’t  _do_ something. And she knows. Of course he couldn't hide it from her. 

He looks at his wife, one more time asking for permission.

“Miles,” she says finally, with a hint of exasperation, “ _just go already_.”

He gives her a kiss and runs out the door.

“Computer, where is Doctor Bashir?”

“Doctor Bashir is in his quarters,” says the voice.

He runs through the familiar hallways, trying not to think things that involve the words _last time_ , and soon enough Julian is letting him in. He’s wearing a light shirt and casual pants and is nursing a drink.

“Big plans?” Miles asks, afraid to know.

“Nah.” Julian puts down his drink. His eyes are wider than usual, genuinely surprised. “Miles. What are you doing here?”

“Everything’s packed,” he says.

“Oh.” Julian licks his lips. “So, do you want to…”

“Stay?” he completes. Julian nods. “If you’d like that.”

“Yeah.” A smile—small and grateful.

He's so beautiful. It used to annoy Miles, back when they first met, the handsome young doctor with his ebullience and arrogance. But maybe there was something behind that, the beginning of attraction he wouldn't recognize for what it was until later. When he finally did, it was inextricably mixed with friendship and affection and tenderness. Now he looks at Julian and thinks,  _you're so beautiful_ , and doesn't mean just physically. It's who he is.

He vaguely remembers a night of drinking, draping himself over a couch and slurring,  _I used to hate you, but now I don't._  He remembers the words struggling to get out, the evasion. Did he know  _why_  he was so reluctant, back then? The real reason, beyond a natural distaste for sentiment, that Ezri says it's a male thing, and that Keiko says it’s a himthing? Maybe he knew, on some level, that it wouldn't be just a declaration of friendship. Maybe he knew that if he said the words he would have to admit it to himself.

But all that seems a million years ago. War doesn’t give them the luxury of time or hesitation; every feels urgent because it  _is_. The battles might be over, but Miles feels the changes wrought in him by the losses and the danger and the fear. He's leaving—he's  _leaving_  and he knows they'll still talk and that Julian will visit, but it still feels like leaving part of him behind.

Suddenly his reluctance seems like a waste of time, a coward’s way out. He walks up to Julian, slowly, like he did the night Jadzia died, but this time it’s his departure that hangs between them and the things he hasn’t said. He’s through with not saying them.

“Jules,” he calls, “I love you.” Julian's breath hitches. Miles raises a hand to his face, looks into his eyes, lets his tone leave no doubt as to the meaning of the words. “I love you.”

Julian's surprise shifts into pleasure. His lips curve and his eyes sparkle—for a moment he looks younger, like the Julian from before the war, but there's no mistaking the new wisdom there, a calmer demeanor that absorbs the words with eyes closed. Julian doesn’t say anything, just leans forward until their foreheads touch. Miles closes his eyes too; breathes in. It's the easiest thing to breach the distance, he's not sure who moves first. This, too, feels easy, surprisingly so; or perhaps not surprisingly at all.

Julian pulls back, out of breath, hands grasping the shirt around Miles' waist. His eyes are serious. “Keiko?"

“It's okay,” he says. Has to force the words out; his throat is dry, his heart is pounding in his chest. “Come here.”

Julian complies. Miles runs his hands across his back, his waist, under his uniform, and finds them shaking. He was nervous the first time with Keiko, and with the women that came before her, but that's natural, he supposes. This is different. He's not afraid or unsure, it's just that he's wanted this for so long, and morning will come soon. Too soon.  _Stop thinking_ , he tells himself. This is what they get.

And he'll be damned if he doesn't enjoy it.

 

 

Later, in the stillness of Julian's room, they just breathe. Miles is sleepy but refuses to go to sleep; he wants every memory he can hoard. Julian's arm is around him, his body warm where it clings to Miles, his smile a ghost against Miles' neck. He runs a hand lazily across the expanse of Julian's back and kisses his temple softly. He almost doesn't want to break the silence, as if they could keep living in a little pocket of time.

“When are you coming to visit me?” he asks finally.

Julian twists to look at him. “As soon as I can,” he says.

“Good,” Miles says, and tastes him again.

 

 

In the morning, when he leaves, Julian throws his arms around him. They say nothing.

 

 

Starfleet Academy Professor of Engineering Miles O'Brien has different challenges than Chief O'Brien. Every day dozens of Starfleet cadets look at him like he's some sort of hero just because he worked at DS9 (it doesn't help when Admiral Ross visits and makes sure both teachers and students are aware of his battle record either). He likes teaching, though. It doesn't give the same clear-cut satisfaction as fixing the problem of the day, but both on the Enterprise and DS9 he did a lot of mentoring anyway. He's good at it. 

They find themselves a nice house with a garden and—he makes sure—a guest room. Keiko can work and live on the same planet, which is a nice change, and the kids love Earth, which is a relief. He and Julian talk; not every day, but near enough. 

 _As soon as I can_ , he'd said. Not soon enough, as far as Miles is concerned. Their three-month plan turns into four, then five. Things happen on DS9—because  _of course_ they do—and he hears about it in Julian’s transmissions. He waits them eagerly, then feels frustrated trying to guess his mood and health and number of sleep hours through video.

Which is bad enough, but suddenly Julian's going to Cardassia—to help rebuild, he says, but really to see Garak, Miles suspects—and Miles' students have a horrible few days when their teacher becomes absolutely grim.

He has no right to jealousy, but tell that to his heart. Like always, the feeling’s tinged with fear. “What if he doesn't go back?” he asks Keiko one night, after she cajoles him into spitting it out. “If he and Garak...”

"I've told you, Miles.  _He and Garak_  doesn't change  _you and him_." She cuddles up to him, caressing his arm, and the motion, as it always does, brings back the memory of his last night on DS9. He closes his eyes, and though it makes him feel guilty, tries to evoke the feeling of a different body next to his.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “I know I shouldn't be like this.”

She sighs. “It's fine. I know you miss him." She turns to face him. "If you want him to come,  _ask_  him.”

“That simple, huh?”

She smiles. “That simple, Miles O’Brien.”

He’s been avoiding asking outright, especially since learning about Cardassia. Every time there's a new transmission, he thinks,  _here it goes, he’s going to tell me they're together and he's staying there._

And if he does? Would Cardassia be all that different from DS9? No, it’s not the planet that keeps him awake, but the company, which is incredibly unfair of him to him—him, on Earth, with his wife, after leaving Julian. He recognizes the hypocrisy, even if he thinks he’ll never be completely free of it.

What he knows—what Keiko makes sure to tell him again—is that he can’t expect Julian to  _guess_ what’s on his heart.

He doesn't have the guts to ask in a conversation, so he just sends a transmission. He tells some news about the Academy and what the kids have been up to.

“Listen,” he adds at the end, like an afterthought, like he hasn't spent the day rehearsing this, “I know you're busy in Cardassia, but Molly's asking after you and Keiko said she'd love to see you.” He pauses. Some habits die hard. “And I would too. Very much. So, if you're not too... too busy, I'd really like to have you here. There's a bar near the Academy with holosuites, we could—you know.” He laughs. Pauses. Feels terribly vulnerable. “I miss you, Jules," he says. And sends.

 

 

Julian doesn't reply. The transmission is out there in subspace, but nothing comes back. At first he’s worried, then depressed, then angry, then back to worried. What if something happened in Cardassia? He contacts Ezri, but she hasn’t heard from Julian in days. He decides to use his Starfleet contacts to find out if anything happened on the planet. He'll do it today, he resolves, as soon as his classes finish.  

This is on the back of his mind as he tries to explain some warp core tricks he picked up on the _Defiant_ to a dozen cadets around him, who seem more interested in prying personal tales than examining the core model.

In response to a way to redirect energy: “Is that what you did on the battle of Cardassia?”

Which somehow leads to: “Were you really taken captive by the Jem-hadar during the war?”

And: “How did you survive so many battles, professor?”

“Guess I was lucky,” Miles grumbles. “Now, the core—"

"You also had an  _excellent_  doctor," cuts in a clear voice to his right. The words run through him like a current. The very expensive piece of equipment he's holding falls to the ground, and his eyes follow the sound to find him leaning on the doorframe, a soft smile on his face, eyes sparkling with delight. The cadets disappear. Miles moves, and the name comes out in an exhale, the relieved sigh of a man coming home. “Julian.”


End file.
